The first thing I noticed about the border between Honduras and Nicaragua was that there is no bridge at the Fraternidad/El Espino crossing point. There is a raised barrier and a cement post striped in yellow paint and suddenly one country ends and the other begins.
The Hondurans were charming and easy as we said goodbye and I will confess my stomach was churning as we drove the fifty yards from the Honduran customs building to the “Welcome To Nicaragua” sign. They have a fearsome reputation for being bloody minded and awkward at Nicaraguas border. We have spoken with travelers who took five hours to cross here’s after being subjected to probing interrogations by angry officials.
You aren’t supposed to wield cell phones in the border offices of any country (including the US) and in a left over from Cold War years photographing border facilities is forbidden so our pictures in this post have a rather poor quality which you can attribute to my feeble spycraft as we attempted to document our arrival in Nicaragua.
Before we even arrived at the border post a man in a hut came out and inspected our passports and gave us an entry form to fill out. Then the disinfectant was sprayed on our wheels. Then an officious police woman motioned me to follow her so I got out and walked to what looked like a Girl Scout gathering under a tree and from among the women sitting in a circle another angry looking policewoman with a giant bosom asked for my entry forms I had just been given. She stamped them and handed them back. She stared and I hoped I was going to get a spanking but she motioned me away with a bored look. I backed out of the August Presence feeling like a school boy in the study of yet another disappointed headmaster. I was educated at a school resembling Hogwarts and the trauma never leaves you.
Then we did immigration and I joked around with the Immigration lady and I had them all smiling pretty quickly so that went well. It was ten o’clock on a Sunday morning and there were just a few truckers in the building and no lines. We were stamped into Nicaragua. Okay then. $26 in US currency. The exchange rate is about 36 Nicaraguan Cordobas (“baskets”) to the dollar but we had none and no one wanted any. And being Sunday there were no currency exchange touts wandering around. That was weird and annoying.
A young customs agency hung out and kept us up to date with our progress. Soon she sent me off to the “eh scanner” a modern expensive US donation to fight the war on drugs. Again there was no line and I drove in, parked the van and watched as my home got x-rayed. Everyone was patient and kind and helpful as I had roughly no idea whatsoever where to stand while these weird operations were underway. Then we had to wait for the results. In the meantime Layne went to the duty free shop for some light shopping - rum beer and chocolate - and I went off to present Rusty’s papers to Agriculture. They had a cute dog in the office which they offered to me to adopt. I’d have loved to but Rusty (and Layne) would have thrown a fit…They too were friendly and cheerful and took $11 after they inspected my dog and pronounced him nice (and disease free just like his vet papers said).
Our tactic at border crossings is to settle in and ostentatiously show we are in no hurry by reading a paper book (no cell phones remember?) so Layne got out my copy of “A Single Wave” a collection of Webb Chiles’s disasters at sea and I got a colorful Italian comic book which sat large in my hands as I stretched out. We were soon interrupted by a posse of young customs agents who needed to show activity. Their inspection looked fearsome but it was as cursory as any checkpoint we’ve ever been through. They opened the toilet door and recoiled at the sight of our toilet. Binoculars are illegal in Nicaragua (!) and ours are safe behind the toilet and will stay out of sight as long as we are in the country. One unpleasant you g man asked if we had a drone and he was fierce. They too are illegal in Nicaragua and overlanders routinely ship theirs across to neighboring countries. I said no I’m too old, they are toys for youngsters. He scowled. I avoided answering if I had a camera. We carry four plus two cellphones and two iPads all capable of taking pictures. And that was the only brief moment of Cold War grumpiness at the border. We passed the scanner test and the inspectors found nothing objectionable. Welcome to Nicaragua! And we were done in two hours.
The only guy touring for business was Martin who offered to clean the van. I gave him five bucks and he did actually nice job. Then he showed me pictures of his lovely dogs. I told him to look me up next time we’re at the border for another clean.
We showed our receipts on the way out as usual and we were free to wander Nicaragua for 60 days. All done in under two hours and no stress at all.
You know how you worry about stuff and the more you worry the less it comes true? I should have known I was being an idiot worrying about this border crossing.
